It's been ten days, and I just cannot seem to think of anything interesting to write here. I seem to be in an emotional slough of despond.
The weather here has been miserable. I'm pretty sure the sun has not shone here since February 1. And, yes, I mean that literally, not metaphorically. (Though the latter would be true also.)
I know stuff is happening in the Anglican world. I continue to read your blogs, but I cannot muster any energy to comment on the blogs or to write anything significant here.
In Missouri, today is a state holiday, so I've been home. Alone. Without stucture. Big mistake. Accomplished nothing more than the mournful fox at right. I suppose it was fortuitous that the two weekends since Shug's death, I had things that I had to do, places I had to be, people who were counting on me. Not so today.
The vet's office called this morning. Shug has been cremated, and her ashes are now ready for me to pick up.
And it is the liturgical season of dust and ashes. So there was nothing amiss in my quietly weeping Sunday through the Great Litany and the rest of the first Sunday in Lent.
I still need to develop a liturgy for Shug's burial. I am paralyzed and weep every time I try to turn my attention to it.
Scotty has spent most of today sleeping, curled up with his tail over his face. He has the right idea, I think.